Best
by Micayasha
Summary: He'd walk through fire to see the way Baralai lights up at the sight of him. .:GIPPALAI:.


_Okay. I… don't like this. I can't say exactly __why__, I just… __don't__. Help?_

_Wow. I really seem to like that 'trust' theme. I always have found trust to be sexy (as odd as that sounds, but we all have our kinks) - I just never realized how much.

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Gippal has never been comfortable in any temple – apart from Djose, of course, which most of the time he forgets ever was a temple anyway. Temples are bad enough. Bevelle Palace? That's the stuff of nightmares.

Glares follow him everywhere, sticking to his skin, gathering like static electricity. It'll spark eventually, and Gippal will lose his cool and glare right back, but for now he's content to ignore them. Gippal likes to think of himself as pretty chilled-out. He doesn't like to let those irritating, better-than-thou chrome-domes get to him.

It doesn't matter what people say – that a new era is being ushered in; that the Al Bhed are no longer any less equal than humans; that there will be world peace. Change is slow, and Gippal feels the drag of its feet with every hostile stare that follows him down the halls.

If his hand grips the railing of the lift just a little too tight, no one can blame him.

It's worth it, though, as it always is. Gippal would walk through this sea of superiority every day if he had to, just for this moment – knocking on glossy dark wood and listening for the quiet "Come in", infused with just enough polite interest to satisfy a guest of any station. Gippal never really got that tone down – he still doesn't entirely know how Baralai does it.

Baralai's voice is always worth the frustration of the priests' disdain, but what Gippal likes best about walking into the Praetor's office is the way Baralai's face – always a mask of the same decorous curiosity as fills his voice – lights up when he sees that it isn't another fidgety acolyte or snooty priest. It isn't an _obvious_ change, but it's there, at least for those who know how to look for it. First it's Baralai's eyes, which widen for the briefest of instants, and then fill with such warmth that Gippal probably couldn't fight a smile even if he wanted to. Then it's the shoulders, relaxing from a posture so stiff it can't be even remotely comfortable. Baralai doesn't slouch, not even around Gippal, but he certainly sits more normally. And then there are Baralai's hands, which fold neatly on the desktop the moment there is a knock at the door. At the sight of Gippal, Baralai's white knuckles regain their colour and his elbows slip a little further onto the desk.

"Gippal," Baralai says, his tone startled but pleased. "What brings you to Bevelle?"

Gippal shuts the door behind him and locks it. Baralai's eyebrows raise just a fraction at the click of the lock. "Well, you know," Gippal says, making a sad attempt at a casual shrug. "I was just in the neighborhood."

Baralai's mouth twitches. "Oh? If you've wandered this far completely by accident, I think you'd better bring a compass next time you go on a walk."

Gippal grins. "I'll remember that."

Baralai laughs outright, now, and no matter how many times Gippal hears it, it's always a bit startling. There are times when Baralai, for politeness' sake, chuckles quietly at parties and social events, but they have none of the depth or lightness of a real laugh. Gippal loves Baralai's laugh, even when it makes a fool of him.

"You missed me," Baralai teases.

"Did not." Gippal's grin is wider now, and he shoves his hands in his pockets, leaning against the door in a casual slouch. "Maybe you're just full of yourself."

"Perhaps I am." Baralai's lips are still curved in the faintest of smiles, but Gippal doesn't miss the way he glances down at the papers spread over his desktop. "I really should be working, though. There is a lot to do. Is there something in particular that you wanted?"

"No." Gippal considers, and then, in just two strides he crosses the office and, leaning over the desk and taking Baralai's face in his hands, kisses him thoroughly.

Okay, Gippal might have lied. Seeing Baralai light up the way he does at the sight of Gippal is definitely a bonus, but the best part about these visits is _this._ Baralai's lips and tongue and skin and the way he presses up into Gippal as though he can never get enough of the kiss. It's not necessarily a lustful kiss – Gippal's smart enough to know Baralai's not going to abandon all this paperwork just for afternoon sex. And as much as Gippal enjoys sex, Baralai's kisses are so full of emotional want that Gippal is entirely willing to wait for dark to show his Praetor exactly _how_ much he missed him.

Baralai's not an open person. Gippal might not wear his heart on his sleeve, but Baralai, though he'd never admit it, was too scared of getting hurt to really show what he felt most of the time. The need in his kisses told Gippal everything he'd always wanted to hear – _I'm trusting you with it. Please be careful._

Because no matter how much Baralai might pretend (at least in public) his heart is not made of stone.

"Okay," Gippal says, pulling away with reluctance and still tasting tea and mint on his lips. "Maybe I did."

"Did what?" Baralai seems too distracted by the kiss to remember the details of their earlier banter.

"Miss you."

Baralai smiles, just a little uncertainly, as if he's never really sure of how much he can show Gippal before he breaks open. "I missed you, too."


End file.
